


First Love, Late Spring

by lilacbombs



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Food, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Smoking, Vacation, takes place after tokyo crisis but honestly who cares about the canon, the inherent eroticism of smoking, yes the title is a reference to a mitski song shoot me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacbombs/pseuds/lilacbombs
Summary: Jigen and Goemon drive back from a vacation in Vegas, and feelings are stirred. (takes place after the tv special “tokyo crisis: memories of flames”Goemon took deep inhales and made that sweet smoke waft out the window and back into the car. His eyes seemed sad, softened in contemplation– but he had a fond smile on his face.Jigen thought that if he connected this smell with this memory, he’d smoke these more often. He might even learn to like that dingy peach smell.
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

For some strange reason, Jigen and Goemon decided to drive to Vegas. The “drive” part was only half of it– they would have to take a plane from Tokyo to Los Angeles and then ride for four hours. The method wasn’t the weird part– it was the fact that Goemon had even agreed on this trip at all.

Jigen had brought it up jokingly as they were running away from the gunfire. “After this is over, why don’t we go to Vegas?” Goemon agreed so long as it was after he “got that cavity looked at.”

Several lupin-adjacent catastrophes later, things were business as usual. Doing heists and running from the law. Jigen still wasn’t sure what really happened at Aquapolis, but he knew he wanted to make good on that promise. But shortly after a chase or two with Zenigata, Goemon seemed to disappear.

It wasn’t until late next spring that they saw each other again. By the next business day, they were getting a southwest flight.

And everything had gone off without a cinch. Goemon used his zen-like reflexes to land them some serious jackpots, and some generous “bonuses” from their boss meant the most lavish room in the city. Sure, they’d lost a hand or two (or ten) at blackjack– and Jigen was so hungover that Monday after that they didn’t end up leaving until Tuesday– but it didn’t matter. They were able to forget about running with the dogs for a while, as just two weirdos in Vegas.

On the drive back, however, the mood had died down. Goemon wasn’t that much different in vegas– a little sake and a long walk made him pretty exuberant. But that was all gone now. There was an odd melancholy between them that blew about in the rental mustang like Jigen’s smokes.

It must’ve been 9 o’clock now, with not a soul on the old highway aside from a few coyotes. The sky was still lit softly by the setting sun, but the stars were beginning to come out, lighting up the sky into a deep blue. After a long day of driving, the cold air felt good. Within an hour or two, they’d reach L.A.  
Being behind schedule meant they might need to sleep in the car, but that was nothing new for them. The only thing Jigen dreaded was being in closer proximity to Goemon than he already was– what he dreaded more was that he wanted to.

He lit up another cigarette. He’d already smoked the last of his pack an hour or so ago, so he pulled out the backup box. Blush pink, curly writing– smelling of peaches. Pianissimo Peche. It tasted like pure shit, but Jigen hadn’t planned on buying it in the first place. He bought the pack at the airport in a rush, because they arrived nearly ten minutes before take-off, and he always ran out on car trips like this.

The smell was tolerable, at least. Enough to make Goemon break the silence.

“Can I have one?”

Jigen looked over and felt a flare in his cheeks. The speed of the car blew Goemon’s hair about, leaving strands disheveled around his eyes. He was relaxed, with one of his arms out the window and a tranquil smile on his face. It made Jigen feel a way he couldn’t explain.

“Sure.”

Jigen handed him one and struck the lighter for him, with Goemon leaning over to help his reach. Goemon didn’t smoke except around him, so Jigen felt an odd delight at being the “only person” that got him to. As he first struck the flame, He tried not to look down the territory the kimono created whenever goemon bent over. The more Goemon indulged, the wider it seemed to grow.

…What was wrong with him? This wasn’t exactly new; Jigen’s interest in men and disinterest in women was something he knowingly hid for years now. It wasn’t like he was in denial of it– some guys were hot, and he’d almost been to bed with one. He was sure Lupin figured it out by now, but they rarely referred to it directly. What Goemon knew was anyone’s guess. But every time he thought about opening that proverbial closet door, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe he didn’t want to be known as “that kind of guy.” Maybe he was scared of change…

More than that, he was scared of rejection. Goemon probably hadn’t opened up everything about himself either, so why should he? It’d be simpler this way. This way, things wouldn’t grow slightly bitter, although still affectionate, as they did with lupin. He wouldn’t lose a friend.

…Another beautiful, perfect friend he couldn’t look away from. 

Goemon took deep inhales and made that sweet smoke waft out the window and back into the car. His eyes seemed sad, softened in contemplation– but he had a fond smile on his face. 

Jigen thought that if he connected this smell with this memory, he’d smoke these more often. He might even learn to like that dingy peach smell.

…

He turned his eyes back to the road.


	2. Chapter 2

As expected, it was too late to catch any flights when they arrived. They were dog tired and wanted to do nothing more than get some sleep or lie down. Goemon was open to sleeping in the car, but Jigen was not looking forward to spending more time in the car seat. They decided to rent the closest drive-in motel and just take the next flight to Tokyo in the morning, regardless if it was a place where dreams go to die.

LA was a ginormous city, so it was a miracle they managed to find a motel with vacancies still available. The harsh light of the lobby had them feeling dazed, so much so that they did not protest a single king room. Why she did was a mystery– she might have thought they were a couple, or maybe she saw what looked like a ninja and gangster and opted to give them the cleanest room available.  
They got their key with little argument and filed into the room, drawing an odd look from the one guy wandering down to the ice machine in boxers. Not because it was two men renting a room, but because one of them was dressed like a samurai.

The only thing either of them bothered to turn on in the room was the desk (glorified table) and lights above the sink. They seemed pointless as the bathroom light already shone a streak of light through the room. One bed, one TV– it was cleaner than Jigen expected, but it was still musky and worn by previous residents. The wall was bare aside from a framed picture of some kind of flowers, which seem slightly tilted. It matched the floral duvet perfectly, in the sense that it was ugly and outdated.

The two of them wound down for the night, with Goemon being the first to take a shower and Jigen sitting on his side of the bed staring at the wall. It took a lot of effort and motivation to change into his night clothes– opting to leave his dress shirt on and open with his dress tank underneath (boxers, too). He flipped through the channels and tried to find something to put on in the background while they slept.

While listening to the sounds of the shower and a rerun of The twilight zone, his thoughts drifted away. He should just go to sleep, but something, whether it be the nicotine or the concert recording playing in the other room, kept him awake.

He thought about what it would be like to sleep in the same bed as Goemon. Even though he was nervous about being near Goemon, these were not girl-on-her-first date jitters. He was old and had slept in the same bed as lupin before. It was more like a restlessness– a need and fear of being close to someone. They had slept in separate beds until now, and Goemon’s silence on the matter uneased him. Maybe he was tired, too.

A few minutes later, Goemon was out of the shower in nothing but a towel, clothes folded and set neatly on the counter. Jigen thought to tell him about how many people have probably made out on that counter, but his brain was short-circuiting. He looked at the way the white-blue light shone on his wet skin, how his scapula moved when he moved his arms up to dry his hair. Jigen remembered reading something about the scapula being like angel wings or something. On Goemon’s tanned skin, he could see the truth in that. 

Once again, he looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohh omg and there was only one bed who'd a thought...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (mild food mention and possible domestic abuse tw.)

Goemon had not packed any pajamas on their trip. In their Vegas room, he usually just took off the hakama and hung out in his kimono top, making sure to hide his lower half under the blanket. Something about the circumstances made the samurai ask differently. As he folded his former clothes into his suitcase, he asked to borrow one of Jigen's shirts.

"What for"? said Jigen, arms behind his head. "It's hot in here." "Do you want me to turn on the AC?" 

"No, it's alright," he heard Goemon trail off, pushing wet hair off of his neck. "...Do you not want me to? Borrow clothes."

"I just thought you hated normal clothes." This conversation had him itching to grab another cigarette.

"I prefer the traditional garb of the samurai. But I also do not want to..." his voice trailed off. He made the kind of soft hum noise that told Jigen he was either too perplexed or too bashful to say what he had planned to.

"Make 'em smell like gym socks?"

"That is one way to put it, yes."

As Jigen lit up another of those peachy sticks, he realized his "normal clothes" comment could come off as insensitive. But it was too late now. He reached in his own suitcase for one of his larger nightshirts. White, short-sleeved– most importantly, no pit stains. Goemon changed behind the bathroom door, and it seemed to fit him perfectly. He offered one of his extra pairs of briefs too. Just in case he felt sheepish about wearing... whatever it was he wore under his hakama.

He tried really hard not to think about how Goemon was sitting on the same bed as him in nothing but his undershirt. Now was not a good time to be randy– he slipped back on his slacks and got ready to head to the corner store. He needed a Marlboro, some food, and Goemon probably did too.

"You want something from the Quikshop?"  
Jigen knew Goemon was incredibly picky when it came to food, but he figured he should ask.

"No, thank you." Goemon had already begun polishing the Zantetsuken.

"You must be a little hungry." Jigen fumbled with his belt, back turned to him. "How about Chinese? I could get takeout."

Goemon paused in consideration as if this was a decision of utmost importance.  
"I would eat a crab rangoon."

"You got it, jack." With that, Jigen was out the door.

\----

An hour later, Jigen was back with a takeout box in one arm and a plastic sack of goodies under the other. It was faster than either of them expected, but Jigen wouldn't argue. He was starving.  
Goemon unlocked the door to just a crack, with his other hand on his sword.

"Easy, it's just me."  
Jigen stepped in, letting the sack drop on the mini-fridge which was closest to the door. It started to rain gently outside, a light drizzle that barely wetted Jigen's hat and hair. Still, he'd hoped the rain wouldn't mold up his clothes. The two settled in like teenagers on a school trip. At least, what Jigen guessed teenagers would do in a hotel with their parent's (Lupin's) credit card. They sat on the bed with all manner of napkins and goodies strung about between them, but they were mostly Jigen's. His meal consisted of some egg rolls, snack cakes, and chips he'd gotten at the corner shop, with a coke to top it off. Goemon just had the crab rangoons with some spring rolls. (The latter being Jigen's addition, in case he was still hungry.) The only thing heard between them was the sound of chewing and package rustling, underscored by the soft rain and the hum of the TV.

Jigen wanted to ask how the food tasted but hesitated when he noticed Goemon had halted polishing Zantetsuken. He was deadly focused on the tv. Jigen had turned down the volume to maybe fall asleep to it– but it seemed that Goemon was deeply invested in whatever episode was playing.

"Have you ever seen this show?" Jigen said, adjusting the volume.

"I have not." Goemon leaned forward as the increased volume revealed some shocking dialogue. Jigen hadn't been following along– it was something about an old salesman and an angel of death, who cruelly was going to take a little girl in place of the old man.

Jigen remembered very little of the twilight zone from his childhood. He'd watch it on school nights, lying on his stomach in their cramped living room. If his dad wasn't already hogging the tv, that is. He stopped liking it as he got older cause he could always guess the twists. But the truth was the older he got, the less and less time he spent at home. He needed to get out of his head again. Thinking about that apartment only conjured the images of shouting– of beer cans and broken plates. 

So he looked at Goemon. It was just a re-run, but you'd have thought he was watching live coverage of the Hindenburg. Jigen found more enjoyment watching his reactions than the show itself. He smiled when the protagonists triumphed, frowned at the tragedy, and even jumped at the "scary" moments. He could try to hide it, but Jigen saw through like always.

The next episode was something neither had seen before, though. The setup was about a little girl buying a doll– a spooky toy story, no doubt. That infamous intro ran through the apartment and cast a strange black-and-white shadow on them both.

" _You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension: a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into... the Twilight Zone._ "

The two of them spent the next few hours or so watching episode after episode. They kept telling the other that this was the "last one" and they'll go to bed. But every time Gogo got sucked into Rod Serling's hypnotic monologue. Some of them even managed to reel Jigen in. He had to admit– this show was pretty good. They'd throw little comments at the tv, about the things that stuck out or reminded them of their adventures. Jigen reveled in Goemon's surprise, and Goemon reveled in how much the twists caught him off guard.

"This is a good time." Jigen thought, closing his eyes. As the tv and the rain blended into a barely comprehensible tone, Jigen recalled a memory from days earlier.

It was the two of them, pockets lined with cash, walking down a vacant vegas street. Jigen was to-the-boards drunk– and Goemon was a little far behind. That casino bar was devious for even carrying sake. They leaned on each other's shoulders and laughed and swayed in the neon light. The hotel was a block away, but it must've taken them several minutes to get there.

"Thank you for suggesting this," Goemon said, setting a hand on Jigen's. It came out more like a word slurry– but Jigen had heard it.

He made a mental note to himself. He needed to thank Goemon for coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when you were younger and like you'd write stories about your favorite characters eating all the stuff you wish you could get? turns out nothing has changed.
> 
> Also, I'm importing my own reading on Jigen's character here, but I think as a kid growing up in the bronx he probably had a very hard childhood if he got into the business of shooting stuff. The very least not a picket-fence kind of childhood.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jigen woke up, features on the shape in front of him morphed and undulated in the darkness. He'd been having a dream of his youth in the Bronx, where he skipped class and fell of the chain-link fence while trying to jump it. But like most dreams things he had, the plot got lost in there. Where had the buffalo come from? And why was the sky green? As his eyes adjusted, he saw what the shape it was. It was Goemon's face– dead asleep, mere inches from him. He quickly became wide awake.

It was early morning– still dark out, but the room was different. The bathroom light was still on, as was the tv– but it wasn't the twilight zone playing anymore. It was a movie in technicolor.

Jigen thought about breakfast and whether they'd catch a flight– but Goemon was at the forefront of all of them. How the hell did they end up face to face anyway? This bed was huge, and Goemon had stolen most of the blankets in his sleep, anyways.

He wanted to smoke, adjust and turn over– but he didn't want to wake his friend, either. Jigen had learned through experience that surprising him would often put you at the business end of the Zantetsuken, which was his least favorite end. He was contemplating their position for so long that he hadn't realized he'd been staring. Goemon's face was serene, with lips slightly parted and soft black hair laying over his eyes and forehead. His eyebrows were also pursed– an expression Jigen felt like he had seen before.

"How is it legal for anyone to be that pretty?" Jigen thought. It was then that he saw Goemon's eyes flutter open.

"Jigen?" he yawned and rubbed his eyes. His hair was still clotted against the pillow, but now his shoulders were rolled forward.

"Uh... hey."  
Jigen, for once in that short trip, didn't look away. He couldn't look away. He was looking at Goemon while he slept. Even if Goemon wasn't telepathic, the man he'd been hiding his desires from the whole trip was still staring into his soul.  
So when Goemon reached a hand up towards his forehead, he thought he felt his chest burst.

Jigen wasn't a touchy person. An occasional hug from Lupin was ok– that was his partner. But Goemon was different. If it had been a few years earlier, he probably would've slapped the samurai's hand away. But then he was just frozen with a mix of want and repulsion. He longed for Goemon, or someone– to brush a hair gingerly from his face, to cup his cheek and tell him to go back to sleep. But he also knew feeling like that was likely to break his heart. The want burnt brighter this time.  
There was no gingerly touch, though. He only felt Goemon's finger gently pick at his forehead and retract away.

"Lint." Goemon whispered.

Jigen had never felt so stupid. A quiet "Oh." was all he managed to say before rolling over onto his back.

As quickly as he awoke, the samurai rolled over and closed his eyes again. Did he have any idea? How crazy he drove him? He woke up looking for Goemon more times than he'd care to admit. It was the same with Lupin, but time had shown him lupin was independent. Clever. Goemon was again, different. 

In firefights, he always tried to focus on the enemy– on not missing so they miss you. But then that smoke would clear, and that anxiety, that dread returned. He knew Goemon was the best swordsman around, and yet... he wasn't immortal. It would only take one bullet, really. Maybe two. One time in which Goemon wasn't at peak performance, or didn't turn in time to block it.  
Did he ever once think about him the same way? Did he ever wake from that zen-like state the Zantetsuken brought him wondering in fear if that stray shot had gotten him, or Lupin, or even Fujiko? Did he even care?

He tried to stop those thoughts before they got out of hand. Surely, Goemon cared a little bit. If he didn't, he would have left a long time ago– He sure as hell wouldn't go out of his way to block a swordsman on the assassin's island. He wouldn't keep coming back.

Still, he wished their mood continued after they got back to Japan. He didn't want Goemon to retreat into the monastery of his mind again. He wanted to make him crack a smile at their antics more often. He wanted them to patch each other up after a rough fight, and complain about the sting of the rubbing alcohol more often. He needed to look into the back of the fiat and see he was still there. Still alive.

At least dreams like that were obtainable. The more romantic dreams of his mind couldn't be seen or heard by anyone, ever. There was this one he despised in particular, about him living in some quiet town by the sea. Sometimes the mountains– it didn't really matter. The point was it was a family life, where he'd go to work in the morning and come home to a beautiful, usually faceless woman. But the older he got the more it was him that was that wife, or at least, that was the role he took on. He worked in the garden by day and made meals for him and the kids at night, he'd kiss his hubby in the doorway as he came home and it was so, so saccharinely stupid it made him sick. All it'd take is one bitter enemy from his past to find his door. That would never be him.  
That'll never be him.

It was in his buzzing, tempestuous mind, however, that he remembered their moment on the beach. Jigen couldn't remember anything after the water hit– something involving a whirlpool. When he woke up, it was to a very similar face Goemon had made then. He was tenderly holding Jigen in his arms, bare to the drawers, lips mere inches from his. At the time, the hitman was so startled he shrieked and backed away on the sand, even firing a few shots off.  
The problem wasn't that Goemon was a man. He thought Goemon– or some other stranger– was trying to take advantage of him while he was comatose. But it was just the samurai trying to give his very skewed-rendition of CPR.  
It became another funny memory they rarely talked about. It made Jigen think, though– why didn't he save Lupin, first? Was it just because he was the closest body? And why in sam hell did he take off all his clothes?

"Goemon."

He could tell Goemon wasn't asleep, by the sound of his breathing. Whether he heard him was anyone's guess.

"You remember that time you gave me CPR?"

There was a beat of silence before he heard Goemon answer. Slowly, between breaths.  
An affirmative "Mmm." was all he really got in response.

"Why'd you save me first?" Jigen said it low, almost in a whisper. He was lying on his back, too. It helped him be more vulnerable if he wasn't looking someone in the eye.

"You looked like you needed help."

He wasn't sure what he expected. "Oh Jigen, you caught me. I've always liked you more than Lupin! We'll have a summer wedding."  
He knew the samurai was a man of few words, and it didn't help that they were both in-and-out of a different kind of twilight zone.

"And," Jigen perked up. "You're my closest ally. I will not let you die on my watch."

That was reassuring, he supposed. He didn't know what else to say. It was as he was about to get up that he heard him say something else.

"Daisuke."

It wasn't a question, just a mumbled statement.

"Yeah?"

He heard a soft oldie's song playing on the television– A scene with two people dancing. It was while listening to it that he realized Goemon, for the very first time, had called him by his first name.

"Do you want to get married?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gay people
> 
> Also once again I am projecting my experiences with identity confusion/compulsory heterosexuality onto Jigen sorry


	5. Chapter 5

The hotel room seemed to fall dead silent for the first time in hours. At first, Jigen felt a laugh bubble up– Goemon was telling a rare joke. Funny, Gogo!  
But then Jigen was just confused. That didn't make any sense; Goemon was serious as a heart attack when it came to most things. There's no way he...

Goemon sat up, laced his fingers, and looked Jigen dead in the eyes. He wasn't kidding.

"You... what?"

Jigen fumbled for the lamp in the dark and switched it on. Regardless of what Goemon's response was, he was lighting a Marlboro. There's no way he was going to have this conversation sober.  
While his eyes adjusted to the light, he fumbled for the lighter. Futile attempts made it click and putter on the table, as he accidentally moved it with his hand.  
"I was thinking..." Goemon placed a hand on his sword for comfort.  
"You and I have been growing closer for a while now. Did you want to start..."  
The sturdy, 16th-century icon Jigen usually knew had been replaced by someone very different. His bed-head hair made him look sad. Usually unwavering, Goemon's back was hunched, his shoulders rolled forward– and his gaze averted. 

"...Courtship?"  
The word came out as a whisper.

"What?" Jigen thought he was still dreaming. He didn't hear that last part, but he knew it wasn't anything good, period. The cigarette in his mouth had yet to be lit, instead idly hanging in his mouth.

"How do you feel about... us. Being partners. As in..."

Jigen finally lit the cigarette and took a deep breath. In some ways, this was a relief. Confirmation of all the things he'd thought and feared for the past few days. But it also opened too many doors.

"Goemon... What're you talking about?"  
"We... Am I just imagining things? I feel like there's something more between us." 

"As in... " Jigen scooted closer to Goemon, leaning on his free arm. He wanted to see Goemon's hidden expression for himself.

The samurai had confused– almost angry eyes. That's how it would appear to most people, But Jigen could always read a little deeper with him. In that expression was fear, like that of a man looking at the monolith. At something profound and terrifying that he couldn't understand.

"I think I have feelings for you."  
Now Goemon was the one intentionally looking away. Or had he been doing so the whole time, and Jigen just didn't notice? Jigen's heart skipped a beat. He wished Goemon could just speak plainly, but he knew this was a challenge for him to talk about. For both of them.

"But I do not know if it's really..." He cupped his eyes in his hand. "We have been doing this with Lupin for years now. I thought what I was feeling was just the spirit of companionship, but..."

"I feel happier when we're alone like this. More than anything else."

So This was really it. Goemon had been feeling the same way he had. A part of him couldn't believe it. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't still dreaming– but considering how the lighter flame had knicked his finger shortly before, there was no doubt. This was the waking world.  
He combed his bangs over his eyes with his fingers, for more confidence.

"...Really? More than your meditation stuff?" Jigen sounded winded as he took the cigarette and stretched to set it on the ashtray. Scooting to the edge, he sat beside Goemon, casting their shadows across the room, and feeling the mattress morph under their weight. Somehow, it felt softer.

"I use meditation to escape worldly desires which are a hindrance." Goemon's usual posture returned.  
"But yes. When I leave, I often think about you."

A part of Jigen wanted to laugh, and another part of him wanted to cry. Mostly of relief, but also disbelief. How was this possible? He couldn't imagine Goemon, the lone samurai, looking behind him or gazing into the long night with thoughts of him. But the more he thought about it, that was the Goemon the world saw.  
He let a small chuckle past his lips.

"And what's that have to do with marriage?"  
Goemon, realizing that Jigen was now looking at him up close, began to comb his hair into its usual shape.  
"That is usually custom when two people have known each other for a long time... I heard it has become legal in some parts of–"

"Hold on, Cowboy." Jigen placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "First off, if you wanted to get married here in California, you should have talked to me about that days ago. Second off–"  
"I'm sorry."  
"It's alright. Second, You know I'm not really a traditional guy, right? Nothing about being my lover would be traditional."

Goemon turned, his eyes brimming with hope, but also deeply embarrassed.  
"lover?! You mean you really– with me?"  
"I think you're confusing the forest for the trees here, man. It's not about marriage or what we should do next. That's a big part of it, yeah– but it's more than that. It's about how you feel about someone. And whether they feel the same about you."  
He laced his hand over Goemon's and hoped that would be enough.

"I... you are right." Goemon ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.  
"I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Don't apologize so much." Jigen eased his back by lying on the bed. Goemon mirrored him, letting his hair fan out underneath him. For a short time, they sat like that. Listening to the faint noise of the television and the city outside.

"What does this mean for us?" Goemon stared at the popcorn ceiling.  
"Whatever you want it to mean." He turned on his side, peeling a strand of hair away from his new lover's eye.  
"You may not be ready to say it. You may not be ready for a lot of things– Hell, I sure wasn't."  
Jigen remembered how the first time he was propositioned by a guy, he ran out of the bar, tripped over the curb, and laid face down in a rain puddle for twenty minutes. Someone called the paramedics because they thought he had drowned in there, and he likely would have since he was piss drunk– but no.  
"But just know it's real. And that I'm here."  
Saying that felt wrong in his mouth, but it was the good kind of wrong. It wasn't like before, where Jigen swallowed all the things he wanted to say behind a cigarette, where they soured for hours. Here, it only felt wrong cause he was being brave. 

Goemon turned to him with wet eyes, smiling. Unable to say "thank you," Goemon turned and let a tear fall out the corner of his cheek, down the side of his head. He heard him wipe his eyes and choke back small sobs.

"You can cry if you need to."  
Goemon took a sharp inhale and sniffed his nose.  
"I know. I don't want to."

There were still a lot of things they had to do, but that could wait. Until the sun rose, they laid next to each other, sharing their thoughts and feelings in small pieces and falling in-and-out of sleep. It scared him like hell to think about that– vulnerability. But when they were getting ready in that dark room and were just about to leave, Goemon placed a chaste kiss on the back of his neck. He wasn't afraid of anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated waiting to post this one, but seeing as I finished this whole fic a while ago I thought I ought to post it now instead of making people wait.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Stick around for a little epilogue.


	6. Epilogue

When they got back to Japan, Jigen and Goemon only had a few days with each other before Goemon had to leave again. There was no resentment there– Goemon had to maintain his skill, and Lupin was going back to Italy to form some new plans. Even though a part of himself was sorry (and a little bitter) to see Goemon go, he knew they'd see each other again soon.

2 months later, he got a letter from the post office. How the hell it got to Lupin's hideout in the hills is a mystery– some old man flagged him down when he went to buy cigarettes. But he wasn't complaining. If anything, he was grateful. It was a white envelope, signed and sent from Japan to him only. On the wax seal was the Ishikawa family crest.

It was way overly formal and different from the letters he was used to in the intro, but it didn't take Holmes to figure out who it was. The beautifully written script in ink pen told him everything he needed to know.

_\------_

_Dear Jigen,_

_I hope you are doing well. I also hope this letter reaches you ok, as I do not know your exact location in Italy outside of that one brick hideout Lupin has._

_My grandfather once said that certain feelings are more easily expressed on paper, so I thought I should write you a letter. (I know e-mail exists, but I am not very good with computers, as you know.)_

_When I see you again, I hope to– (There was a rather large part crossed out with ink here)_

_Kiss you more deeply, More than the one we had at the airport, or the one we had in the alley behind Lupin's apartment as I was leaving._

_On the plane, when we came back from Vegas, you asked if I minded having a worn-out old man for a lover. I laughed at the time, but I have been thinking about it still. Who am I to say, when I have never really loved a man before? At least, not the same way I love you. I think you are far more good-looking and charming than you realize, especially to me._

_Sometimes I wonder how you would react to the things I see here. You'd probably think the monastery was too dull– but that is alright. I like that you are honest enough to complain. It keeps things lively. You might like the trees here, though, they are the most beautiful in autumn. Just like you. Though I think your looks are evergreen._

_Sorry, this letter has grown long. I should have just written a haiku. When my training is difficult, I imagine your voice cheering me on, and it inspires me to pull through. When I find myself growing melancholy, I remember the little things you'd say. I hope you will imagine my voice too, reading this letter, and that you can look at it should you ever miss me._

_Imagining your voice and missing your presence has also inspired some rather dirty thoughts. They have challenged my training immensely. The next time I see you, I will have to punish you for that._

_I love you. I am sorry I have not said that out loud yet. I hope to very soon. Stay safe._

_Sincerely, Goemon Ishikawa XIII_

_P.S. - That last part about punishing was a dirty joke. I apologize for any confusion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was my first (real) fic and was a delight to write. I hope to make more like it in the future.


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